I have a voice mail and about 3 emails that I listen to and read about once a week. Words of encouragement. Words of validation. Words of love poured over our fresh wounds. Words that soothe and balm and help me remember that we did not give up.
Instead, we obeyed. We knew having children meant offering up our own wants, needs and often our dreams and goals so that we could shepherd these precious lives to the foot of the cross on a regular basis. And that is what we have done.
We have chosen to forgo our dreams and instead love our children well and help them heal, help us heal.
But I'm going to be honest.
I feels a lot like we just gave up.
Lately, for some reason I cannot pinpoint, Lucas has melted into a puddle of tears on numerous occasions and just keeps saying things like:
"Mom, I want Paige. I want her to be RIGHT HERE."
"I really wish Paige was here eating dinner with us."
"I wish Paige was going with us to the dentist."
"I miss her. I can barely remember what her voice sounds like, Mom."
Each of those things make my heart break into a million pieces.
I don't want this blog to become the "We miss Paige blog" but truly, I'm not sure what else to write about. The days stretch on between blog posts, they turn into weeks and often I think, "Oh I should blog about that funny thing the kids did" but when I sit to write, deep emotion pours from my fingers.
Writing is my release. And when I sit, emotions surface and spill over. Often emotions I've been trying my best to suppress.
I went to her grave yesterday. It was mostly unintentional. Elizabeth has started piano again and though we live only a few minutes from her lessons, it seems like a lot of work to bring the other 6 kids home, unload them and then load them up again 45 minutes later.
So after driving around in frigid temperatures, I decided that one of the playgrounds at the church might be in the sun. It's also the playground nearest the cemetery. I pulled up and saw that it was not in the sun but the kids insisted on getting out anyway, despite my warnings that it was painfully cold.
We all climbed out, I bundled everyone up and they sprinted for the slide. The slide that's maybe 100 feet from Paige's grave. I've avoided it for the last six months because, well, sometimes it's easier to deny that she's really there in the ground.
But as the kids sprang onto the playground, my feet carried me causally over to the spot I'd stood six months ago as I watched my husband heave with sobs into the chests of his closest friends. The spot where I watched her casket lay above a giant hole that would swallow her up. The spot where I sat next to Grace, clutching her hand, so consumed with worry for her that bile rose in the back of my throat.
I couldn't stop myself. My mind told me at least a dozen times to turn around but I couldn't. I just kept walking until finally there I stood. Looking at the tiny little marker with her name written on it.
My heart recoiled. The grass. Oh God the grass. How in the hell is there grass!? No dirt. No pile of muddy grass and seed, still swollen with the newest offering into the hard, cold ground.
Just normal looking grass. Weathered by the cold winter, grey and brown and looking just like the rest of the grass in the cemetery that covered the plots of people who had been buried for years.
How is it that a 10 foot by 5 foot hole has already completely healed and my heart has only begun?
Today, I took Ashlee out on a lunch date. My sweet girl is always begging for special time alone with me or Luke. We sat in a booth of the Japanese restaurant, noodles slapped the sides of her cheeks as she slurped, my heart swelled with love for her.
"Ash, you know I think you're pretty awesome, right?"
And as casually as she could, she responded with, "Yeah, I know. But not as awesome as Paige."
She's in our thoughts everyday, never far away from intersecting reality and memory. Which is exactly how it was when she was alive. We called or texted her often. Skyped her regularly. The kids wrote letters to her, drew her pictures and asked when she was coming over next. We missed her when she was at school and now, we miss her even more.
Six months tomorrow. It makes me angry that time has dared to move on so quickly. Yet here we sit, life altered, plans changed, hearts sad, new plans on the horizon.
It feels a lot like we just gave up on our old life. But I know that's not true.
I got an email on Monday. It was from our sending organization. A simple email with a lone attachment.
New support goals for 2013.
It felt like a slap across the face. I know it was just routine for whomever updates and sends records. But once again our support needs had gone up. It's not like we are planning to leave the country in 2013 but seeing the dollars we would need continuing to mount seemed like a heartless joke.
I know this is a ramble. And it's sad. And it's not what this blog was ever designed to be. But I really don't know what to write about anymore. I have pages saved on my computer of emotions and thoughts poured out from me, hoping that if I just let them out then I could begin to move on like nearly everyone else I know.
Somedays I feel fine. I rejoice in the testimony of her life, of our life, and what God has done already. And then there are days like yesterday, and the day I know tomorrow will be, and I turn my eyes onto my own broken heart rather than the One who could provide true healing.
It feels like we gave up. It feels like our identity has been stripped from us. Our feet should be firmly standing on African soil right now. Instead, our feet pace around a beautiful property that will soon be ours but I can't genuinely say I'm joyous about owning. We are buying a house out of sad circumstances that we didn't ask for.
It's funny really. I look out our window right now and it's a sunny, clear day. Mildly overcast, with mostly sunny skies. It looks like a nice, warm spring day.
But if you crack open the door, the cold rushes in and the reality of the freezing temperatures outside rush in and send a chill up your back. The hair on the back of your neck prickles and you realize, things aren't what they seem.
And that's exactly the state of my heart. Life is moving at normal pace. I attend Bible study and church, go to the grocery store and run into people I know. All appears okay, like a nice, normal day. And then reality slices in, the bitter cold reminding me that this is not where I want to be and the hairs on my neck prickle, my stomach lurches and tears fill my eyes.
I found this scripture this morning while searching for some encouragement for a friend. I want this to be true for me. I need this to be true for me.
Instead, we obeyed. We knew having children meant offering up our own wants, needs and often our dreams and goals so that we could shepherd these precious lives to the foot of the cross on a regular basis. And that is what we have done.
We have chosen to forgo our dreams and instead love our children well and help them heal, help us heal.
But I'm going to be honest.
I feels a lot like we just gave up.
Lately, for some reason I cannot pinpoint, Lucas has melted into a puddle of tears on numerous occasions and just keeps saying things like:
"Mom, I want Paige. I want her to be RIGHT HERE."
"I really wish Paige was here eating dinner with us."
"I wish Paige was going with us to the dentist."
"I miss her. I can barely remember what her voice sounds like, Mom."
Each of those things make my heart break into a million pieces.
I don't want this blog to become the "We miss Paige blog" but truly, I'm not sure what else to write about. The days stretch on between blog posts, they turn into weeks and often I think, "Oh I should blog about that funny thing the kids did" but when I sit to write, deep emotion pours from my fingers.
Writing is my release. And when I sit, emotions surface and spill over. Often emotions I've been trying my best to suppress.
I went to her grave yesterday. It was mostly unintentional. Elizabeth has started piano again and though we live only a few minutes from her lessons, it seems like a lot of work to bring the other 6 kids home, unload them and then load them up again 45 minutes later.
So after driving around in frigid temperatures, I decided that one of the playgrounds at the church might be in the sun. It's also the playground nearest the cemetery. I pulled up and saw that it was not in the sun but the kids insisted on getting out anyway, despite my warnings that it was painfully cold.
We all climbed out, I bundled everyone up and they sprinted for the slide. The slide that's maybe 100 feet from Paige's grave. I've avoided it for the last six months because, well, sometimes it's easier to deny that she's really there in the ground.
But as the kids sprang onto the playground, my feet carried me causally over to the spot I'd stood six months ago as I watched my husband heave with sobs into the chests of his closest friends. The spot where I watched her casket lay above a giant hole that would swallow her up. The spot where I sat next to Grace, clutching her hand, so consumed with worry for her that bile rose in the back of my throat.
I couldn't stop myself. My mind told me at least a dozen times to turn around but I couldn't. I just kept walking until finally there I stood. Looking at the tiny little marker with her name written on it.
My heart recoiled. The grass. Oh God the grass. How in the hell is there grass!? No dirt. No pile of muddy grass and seed, still swollen with the newest offering into the hard, cold ground.
Just normal looking grass. Weathered by the cold winter, grey and brown and looking just like the rest of the grass in the cemetery that covered the plots of people who had been buried for years.
How is it that a 10 foot by 5 foot hole has already completely healed and my heart has only begun?
Today, I took Ashlee out on a lunch date. My sweet girl is always begging for special time alone with me or Luke. We sat in a booth of the Japanese restaurant, noodles slapped the sides of her cheeks as she slurped, my heart swelled with love for her.
"Ash, you know I think you're pretty awesome, right?"
And as casually as she could, she responded with, "Yeah, I know. But not as awesome as Paige."
She's in our thoughts everyday, never far away from intersecting reality and memory. Which is exactly how it was when she was alive. We called or texted her often. Skyped her regularly. The kids wrote letters to her, drew her pictures and asked when she was coming over next. We missed her when she was at school and now, we miss her even more.
Six months tomorrow. It makes me angry that time has dared to move on so quickly. Yet here we sit, life altered, plans changed, hearts sad, new plans on the horizon.
It feels a lot like we just gave up on our old life. But I know that's not true.
I got an email on Monday. It was from our sending organization. A simple email with a lone attachment.
New support goals for 2013.
It felt like a slap across the face. I know it was just routine for whomever updates and sends records. But once again our support needs had gone up. It's not like we are planning to leave the country in 2013 but seeing the dollars we would need continuing to mount seemed like a heartless joke.
I know this is a ramble. And it's sad. And it's not what this blog was ever designed to be. But I really don't know what to write about anymore. I have pages saved on my computer of emotions and thoughts poured out from me, hoping that if I just let them out then I could begin to move on like nearly everyone else I know.
Somedays I feel fine. I rejoice in the testimony of her life, of our life, and what God has done already. And then there are days like yesterday, and the day I know tomorrow will be, and I turn my eyes onto my own broken heart rather than the One who could provide true healing.
It feels like we gave up. It feels like our identity has been stripped from us. Our feet should be firmly standing on African soil right now. Instead, our feet pace around a beautiful property that will soon be ours but I can't genuinely say I'm joyous about owning. We are buying a house out of sad circumstances that we didn't ask for.
It's funny really. I look out our window right now and it's a sunny, clear day. Mildly overcast, with mostly sunny skies. It looks like a nice, warm spring day.
But if you crack open the door, the cold rushes in and the reality of the freezing temperatures outside rush in and send a chill up your back. The hair on the back of your neck prickles and you realize, things aren't what they seem.
And that's exactly the state of my heart. Life is moving at normal pace. I attend Bible study and church, go to the grocery store and run into people I know. All appears okay, like a nice, normal day. And then reality slices in, the bitter cold reminding me that this is not where I want to be and the hairs on my neck prickle, my stomach lurches and tears fill my eyes.
I found this scripture this morning while searching for some encouragement for a friend. I want this to be true for me. I need this to be true for me.
Sing aloud, O daughter of Zion;
shout, O Israel!
Rejoice and exult with all your heart,
O daughter of Jerusalem!
The LORD has taken away the judgments against you;
he has cleared away your enemies.
The King of Israel, the LORD, is in your midst;
you shall never again fear evil.
On that day it shall be said to Jerusalem:
“Fear not, O Zion;
let not your hands grow weak.
The LORD your God is in your midst,
a mighty one who will save;
he will rejoice over you with gladness;
he will quiet you by his love;
he will exult over you with loud singing.
I will gather those of you who mourn for the festival,
so that you will no longer suffer reproach.
Behold, at that time I will deal
with all your oppressors.
And I will save the lame
and gather the outcast,
and I will change their shame into praise
and renown in all the earth.
At that time I will bring you in,
at the time when I gather you together;
for I will make you renowned and praised
among all the peoples of the earth,
when I restore your fortunes
before your eyes,” says the LORD.
(Zephaniah 3:14-20 ESV - emphasis added by me)